


Sunrise

by littlerumbird



Series: Interstellar Oceans [9]
Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Imzadi (Star Trek), Some Humor, Some angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-26
Updated: 2020-11-26
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:27:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27721406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlerumbird/pseuds/littlerumbird
Summary: Will Riker thinks Deanna smells nice. He has a lot of thoughts about Deanna Troi.
Relationships: William Riker/Deanna Troi
Series: Interstellar Oceans [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2026340
Comments: 14
Kudos: 39





	Sunrise

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Thanksgiving. My holiday plans went to chaos, but ya know, we're getting fic out of it.

Will Riker can’t help but notice, for the thousandth time, that Deanna always smells good. It’s not only that she’s female. He has to give it to women because they do tend to smell better. And it’s something more than fragrances or lotions. More than the sandalwood oil he once gave her. It’s not even some fragrance from Betazed.

There’s something that’s intrinsically _her_ going all the way back to when they first met on her home world. Something that has lingered into the years on Enterprise together. And whatever it is, it’s intoxicating. He could spend his whole life trying to figure out what it is.

She talks to the fish in the aquarium in her quarters. Deanna knows her fish and can distinguish each of them from the others. Will knows that she named them after various characters from stories. They aren’t stories from Betazed. Because most of their stories are told telepathically, and the names don’t always have a spoken equivalent. Most of her fish are named things like Calamity Jane, Butch Cassidy, Bonnie & Clyde, Annie Oakley, Paul Bunyan, and Old Blue.

He’s also caught her talking to Picard’s fish, Livingston, in the Ready Room. He’s not really sure if the captain named the fish, or if Deanna named it.

Some time ago he even woke one morning to hear her chatting softly to her plants, the orchids in particular, as she watered them. It had been an early morning after a late night when they were both too overly tired to sleep. They had shared a few drinks, synthenol for him and hot chocolate for her, and fallen asleep on her couch somewhere past zero two hundred. Her voice was soft and lilting as she murmured encouragement to the temperamental flowers and ran her finger lightly over their leaves. It was downright cheerful for someone running on five hours of sleep.

Something inside his gut had turned into mush at the sight and sound. And she had frozen for a long moment. Suddenly reminded he was there and acutely aware that he was awake. Even in the dim light, he could see her neck flush. And she moved about the rest of her watering rounds that morning in silence while Will felt disappointed that she had stopped and tried to fake that he was asleep again.

She’s gentle and tender, and he’s the biggest sucker for Deanna Troi with kids. When Alexander was on board, he couldn’t fault Worf for being so drawn to her. Or fault Alexander for not minding spending time with Deanna. The younger children on board adore her, and more than once he’s needed to consult with her about something and inquired only to find she was in the learning centers and indulged himself.

Somewhere around the incident with Clara Sutter he realized that children open up to her for the same reason why adults do—because of her compassion and her candor. They light up around her and vie for her attention. She is willing to crawl into their world and see things from their perspective. They clamor after her, and more than once she’s been late to lunch or dinner with him because several refused to let her leave. Her patience with them and for their stories seems fathomless. She gives each one her undivided attention in turn. And their trust in her is the purest thing in any galaxy.

It occurs to him, time and again, how great a mother she would be. Still might be. And that little spark of hope hits, all the times he’s half wondered if they might have had a family. What could have been between them. What still might be someday. The mom she might be. The mom she was. And, in a way, still is. He’ll never forget her radiant smile when Pulaski nestled Ian into her arms. Or the resonant grief Ian left behind merely a day or so later.

Their bond at that time wasn’t what it had been. But he’d felt the resonant ache a room away for days and weeks. He’d had to pull her from duty because she wanted nothing more than to bury herself in work. But she needed to grieve. And she couldn’t lie to him about it because he felt the hurt like phantom limb pain.

She is private in grief. He let her have her space for the first day, but he came by at night to urge her to eat something. She picked at things for days. Even chocolate was hard to get down. Will spent more than one night on her couch, and sharing a bed and holding her in hopes she would sleep. A few times he found her curled in a chair and lost in her own thoughts. Sometimes asleep in her bed or the sounds of a bath running. It took time to ease back into Starfleet routine again. She slept with the little blanket they’d sent her back to her quarters with Ian bundled into. Slept with it for weeks at least. She still keeps it in the bottom drawer in her restroom. He found it once by accident when she had been released from sickbay after one incident or another and he was searching for her robe to make her more comfortable.

Her empathy can be her undoing in moments… but it is a truly a gift. She embodies it well. He and Geordi might have had a chuckle at Barclay’s supposed Goddess of Empathy. But Will knows how much Barclay missed. It’s not about emotion for its own sake. It’s about her acceptance of all emotions. Her willingness to be present with the crew in all feelings. To examine them and sort through them in a meaningful way.

Deanna Troi has challenged him and pushed him. He’s a better person, a better first officer, and a better man because of his various relationships with her. And she is his Imzadi in the deepest sense. The first to see all that he is as a person and accept it. Accept all of him, strengths and faults. And sometimes he’s still not sure how to process that.

She’s said things to him that no one else except a superior officer could get away with saying—and even not always something an officer should say to him. But even the hardest words to hear have not been untrue. Another of her gifts is seeing people for who they are. And sometimes letting them know she sees who they are even when they try to delude themselves. He’s had those moments.

He’ll always be grateful she saw the alleged mighty Kyle Riker for who he was. And so neatly disarmed the figurehead that had always loomed in Will’s mind. Parents are complicated, and she understands that as fully as he does.

Deanna Troi is a deeply passionate person. The most passionate person he has ever met. And that’s probably saying a lot. Will has spent more than his fair share of time on Risa. The Risians know a lot about pleasure. But it’s not the same thing. With Deanna it’s more than the physical. There’s something intoxicating about her that he could spend his whole life trying to unravel.

And right now he doesn’t want to unravel anything. Because she smells good in the middle of the night, wrapped around him like a Markonian vine. Her limbs are tangled with his, and she sleeps against him, almost wedged under him at times. Will worries vaguely that he’ll smush her. And when he first admitted this one night as he tried to shift her out a bit, she’d given him a small grin and kissed him gently and worked her way right back to where she was.

Other nights, she’s content to be spooned against him or sprawled half across his torso. He’ll contort into uncomfortable positions simply to hear that damn murmur of contentment she makes before she falls into deep sleep. Eventually his discomfort wakes her, and she’ll mumble an apology and gods, why didn’t he just tell her his leg had pins and needles before they’re both asleep again.

Deanna Troi is a blanket hog, especially in his quarters. Because he’s an Alaskan through and through and likes the crisp cold. But her blood runs warmer, and his favorite Betazoid hybrid is forever seeking warmth and her creature comforts of warming oils and her favorite sheets from the fibers grown in the Loneel Valley. And Will Riker considers himself lucky as hell to fall asleep like this, and he’ll give up more than half of his blanket to keep her warm. Because that drowsy smile he wakes up to is his favorite sunrise.


End file.
